In Delhi, when parents whisper about schools that stand apart, Mother’s International School—or MIS, as generations of students call it—almost always finds its way into the conversation. Nestled on the Sri Aurobindo Ashram campus, it is not just one of the most sought-after schools in the capital, it is also one of the most quietly unique. Unlike institutions that chase rankings or erect glass-fronted buildings to showcase progress, MIS has retained a kind of earthy simplicity, a middle-class rootedness, that makes it deeply different.
Both my children studied at MIS, and I often look back at those years as a gift—not just for them, but for us as parents. What makes MIS stand out is not its infrastructure or its placement on lists of “top schools of Delhi.” It is the philosophy it lives by: a belief that education is shaped less by competition and more by values. And the most important part of those values, at least when we were applying, was the parents themselves.
When we applied for admission, MIS did something radical. Instead of evaluating the child, the school evaluated the parents. There was a written exam—yes, for us. The same question paper was given to both parents, and we were asked to attempt it separately. It included multiple-choice questions, essays, even scenario-based queries about our understanding of education. But here was the interesting twist: if my husband chose option A and I chose option B, we would not get marks for that question. The marking was joint, to see how aligned we were in our approach. The school wasn’t testing knowledge. It was testing commitment, unity, and clarity in parenting.
Then came the interview with the principal and a school trustee. The questions were not about how brilliant our child was or what achievements we could list. They were about us. “What are your views on education?” “What values do you think are most important for your child to grow up with?” It was humbling, and also reassuring. Here was a school that wanted to know who we were—not our income levels, not our social status, but our philosophy as parents.
Before we made our final decision, Tara didi, one of the pillars of the school, took us on a walk around the campus. Her words still echo in my mind: “Please see whatever we have in terms of infrastructure. If you feel satisfied, only then deposit the fee.” It was simple, transparent, almost old-fashioned. No glossy brochures, no inflated promises. Just an honest request to look, reflect, and decide.
That was the ethos of MIS. And that is why parents vied for admission—not because of fancy labs or international-style facilities, but because they knew this was a school where values came before vanity.
Over the years, I realized that the emphasis on parent selection was not just about admissions. It was about creating a circle. For twelve years, a child’s peers—and by extension, their peers’ parents—become the ecosystem in which they grow. If the parents are aligned in their values, the children grow up with a kind of shared foundation. This is why parent selection mattered so much at MIS. If the parent group was broadly homogeneous—simple, middle-class, committed to values rather than displays of wealth—the children would breathe that culture every day.
The parking lot outside MIS has always told its own story. You won’t see a fleet of flashy luxury cars lined up, as in many Delhi schools. Instead, most parents arrive in modest, practical cars—vehicles that speak of middle-class sensibilities rather than the prestige arms race of the city.
I remember another telling moment. My daughter once won a medal in a tournament outside the school. Proud and excited, she wanted her teacher to award her the medal in front of her classmates, with a little ceremony. But the teacher simply announced her achievement and handed her the medal, without drama or fuss. There was no motivational lecture to others, no singling out to create competition. The message was clear: celebrate quietly, don’t glorify one child over another, and don’t let success divide. It was a subtle but powerful lesson.
That was the kind of culture MIS built—steady, value-driven, and resistant to the pull of hyper-competitiveness. Even in a city where every second conversation revolves around marks, ranks, and cut-offs, MIS maintained that education is about something deeper. Yes, academics mattered. But they were never placed above humanity, humility, and balance.
Of course, times have changed. Today, under Delhi government’s neighborhood school policy, admissions are based on points—distance from school, siblings, alumni status, and other transparent criteria. The old system of parent evaluation no longer exists. And yet, the philosophy behind it still holds lessons. Back then, MIS was not just selecting students. It was curating a community. By choosing parents carefully, the school ensured that each child would grow up in an environment of shared values, free from the distortions of wealth or excessive competition.
In a way, it was an experiment in creating harmony. And for those of us whose children studied there, it worked. Our children grew up in an atmosphere where classmates came from similar value systems, where no one felt inferior because they did not own luxury cars, and where teachers modeled humility instead of ambition.
Ask any MIS parent and you will hear a dozen anecdotes like mine. The quiet way achievements were handled. The respect shown to every child, whether a topper or not. The earthy, middle-class flavor that refused to be drowned out by Delhi’s obsession with marks.
For me, MIS represents a rare balance in Indian education—a school that is sought after not because it produces toppers, but because it produces grounded human beings. The admission process, with its focus on parents, was simply a way of protecting that culture. It wasn’t perfect, but it was deeply intentional.
Today, as Delhi’s school admissions have become increasingly competitive, I often think back to those days with gratitude. Because in choosing MIS, we didn’t just choose a school. We chose a community. And in doing so, we chose the circle in which our children would spend twelve of the most formative years of their lives.
That, ultimately, is the real value of a school like Mother’s International. Not the medals, not the rankings, not even the marks. But the circle of values it quietly nurtures—for children, for parents, and for generations.